Chameleon
by prudish
Summary: It's so strange being himself. TeddyVictoire.
1. I

**Chameleon.**

Being himself is so strange. TeddyVictoire.

I don't own Harry Potter.

Whymustthefirstchaptersalwaysbesoboring?

* * *

He and Harry are squished into the phonebooth. Teddy presses his nose against the window so he doesn't have to have Harry's chest digging into his back. A Muggle woman and her Muggle children cross the street like ducklings with their duck mother, tottering along, always tottering as if there are no secrets in this world. The window is fogged up with his breath by the time the phonebooth whirs underground, anyway, and he forgets about the Muggle mother and her Muggle children. Harry is cheerful and rosy this morning, and claps Teddy on the shoulder when the phonebooth door slides open and the honey-sweet voice of the disembodied woman tells them to have a nice day.

"Welcome to the Ministry, Teddy," Harry says, grinning.

Teddy sees the current of wizards and witches, towering caps and billowing robes, plumes and bowler hats, as Harry nudges him in with it. It's almost like he's being pushed along instead of actually walking himself (a frowning, hook-nosed wizard behind him says, "Hurry up, boy!"). Harry is right by his side, stealing glances every now and then, gaging his reaction to such a strange, bizzare place. He points out the large fountain to Teddy. "Isn't it a bit," Teddy gropes around for a word, "arrogant to have it set like that?"

Harry leans in and whispers in Teddy's ear, "That's the exact same thing I thought when first I saw it." And he laughs, because Harry enjoys to laugh now.

With Harry's hand on his shoulder (what is a godfather for, anyway?) they swerve in the direction of the elevator where a quarter dozen others are headed. Little birdlike paper planes buzz and chatter above their heads, and for once, Teddy is intrigued.

"What are those?" he asks.

Harry beams up at them at says, not without a hint of savvy, "Inter-department memos. They send messages between the departments."

Teddy nods, because he cannot see how owls wouldn't stink up the place. (They do so often at Hogwarts in the Owlery.) A frail-looking witch with wispy white hair spouting from under a feathery cap gives him a tentative smile behind a load of paperwork; he offers to take it and she readily accepts--the clever old ghoul gives him an even more sugary smile while his knees buckle from the weight and Harry laughs because Teddy has about the same strength of a wizened old witch. Floor two flashes on the display and Teddy is quite relieved.

"Here," he says politely, dumping the load into the witch's spindly arms shrouded in green robe.

When they unload off the elevator and into the hallway of the second floor, it's crowded with many wizards--not so many witches, but a few--with scarred-up faces and gruff-looking exteriors. (It's hard to believe Harry, with his glasses and mellow demeanor, is the head of the Auror Department.)

A craggy wizard of around forty smiles toothily at Harry as he passes, with corn kernels set in his gums.

"Milfus Dreggs," Harry mutters, "nice fellow but a bit off his rocker since the accident."

"Accident?" Teddy asks, a bit curious.

"He was fiddling around with a bewitched toaster (that's not even his job) and the magical discharge fired out and he was sent to St. Mungo's. Was in there was for," Harry rubs his chin as they keep in the flow of people, "about six months before he was released and could come back to work."

Teddy looks back at Milfus over his shoulder. "Poor Milfus. What's he do now?"

Harry smiles brightly. "He's the second floor janitor, of course."

And Teddy just hopes something nasty like that won't happen to him. The hall is bright white, like a hospital wing, and the floor tiles are gray and flecked with black, and white and other shades of gray. It's not the most colorful place, he'll admit, but it does feel rather bustling and energetic. Two sleepy-looking wizards hold a thrashing one with gnarly teeth as he yelps out. He looks to Teddy as he passes.

"Boy, boy! Help! 'Ese old bastards 'ave me by the neck an' I hain't even done nothin'!"

Harry rushes Teddy past the prisoner (the man is shouting out to everyone who passes him, it seems) and into a little alcove of a door with 'Auror Department' in gold lettering on the cherry wood. It looks so neat and clean and tidy, almost inviting--he's not sure if Aurors really work in here.

"Is this--this is where you work, Harry?" Teddy asks tentatively, as Harry swoops around him and shoulders the door open.

"Right." He beams.

It's about as nice in here as it is in the hallway--tidy desks overrun with paperwork and family portraits and wizarding devices. Harry's office is off to the left, with his name in professional-looking black print of the door with the subtitle of 'Head of Auror Department' below it. Harry just tells him to wait outside a moment, he needs to get some papers, and then he emerges with a few parchments and a quill between his teeth.

"Shall we go, then?" Harry raises his brows and smiles.

"I suppose," Teddy replies, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers and trudging behind Harry. (His palms are actually very sweaty and his brow is sopping wet--he wonders if he has time to change his hair very quickly.)

"Don't be like that," Harry says, tossing Teddy a half-scowl, half-smile over his shoulder as they duck into another little alcove with the the title 'Magical Law Enforcement Squad'. Teddy swallows as they enter, and Harry holds the door open, looking sympathetic now instead of annoyingly cheerful (that's just not his godfather).

It's just as full of clutter as the Auror Department, only there several pictures of sneering candidates for Azkaban tacked up on the walls, jostling and poking around in their clippings as if they already have been capture. A witch with short black hair gives Teddy a tight-lipped smile before she scoops up a load of papers and strides out the door.

"Audrelina Defoe," Harry supplies. He seems to know many people. Almost too many.

"Ah."

The Head's office on the right instead of the left like Harry's, and the print is finer (the name is longer) and harder to determine--'Hermold Eggebotter, Head of Magical Law Enforcement Squad', it reads.

"Go on in," Harry prods Teddy, handing him a parchment with his resume on it. "You'll be fine."

"Right," Teddy croaks.

Inside, sitting on a big, lavish chair (Teddy wonders idly if Harry has one as well) is who Teddy assumes to be Hermold Eggebotter, a square-shaped wizard with a long gray beard that spills onto the giant oak desk in front of him. He looks up at Teddy and smiles--not indulgently, but as if he's trying to relieve some of Teddy's ache of nerves--and extends his hand over a large stack of yellowed parchment and bids Teddy to sit down.

Oh, he does and he is about ready to piss his pants.

Hermold Eggebotter puts on a pair of round spectacles not unlike Harry's and skims over Teddy's resume, not really looking too impressed or doubtful--for that Teddy is somewhat happy.

"Theodore Lupin, age nineteen, godson of Harry Potter, son of the deceased Remus Lupin and Auror Nymphadora Tonks..." he reads aloud and Teddy nods. Eggebotter's mouth curls up. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"Only when it's necessary, sir."

Eggebotter scoffs. "If we talked only when it was necessary, things would never get done."

Teddy lets out a lame little laugh.

"I'll expect you know why we want you." Eggebotter sobers after having himself a chuckle and stares steadily at Teddy over his glasses. Teddy shifts in his chair and folds his hands in his lap. "It's a great gift you've got, you know."

"Yes, sir," Teddy replies.

Eggebotter looks a bit taken aback as he traces his finger over Teddy's O.W.L.S. scores. "You didn't receive any 'O's on any of your O.W.L.S., no N.E.W.T.S., either. Looks to me like you're pretty well-versed in Herbology, though."

(Only because Neville is friends with his godfather.)

"Right, sir."

"So you definitely can't register as a Hit Wizard. (Shame though, your parents were such excellent students.) But you've got that ability and we don't want it to go to waste, do we?" Eggebotter leans forward, looking a bit giddy. "Could I see a demonstration?"

Teddy is a bit startled, but is hasty. He squints really hard--it hurts a bit like someone is grabbing him by the nose and he can feel himself breathing a bit differently because he nasal cavity is all screwed up-- Eggebotter is wide-eyed and animated.

"That's quite a nose!" he applauds, jotting something down on Teddy's resume.

"Can I change back now, sir?" He likes his regular nose better. (He saw it in a photograph taken months before was born, or so Gram told him--the nose belongs to his father and it's a bit of a tribute to him, Teddy likes to think. A salute to the man whom he has never met and Harry has delineated as a god.) The pig snout isn't entirely comfortable. And his nose feels the same, but good as he smoothes a finger over it under the guise of scratching it.

It's a precious piece of art.

Being a Metamorphmagus requires the somewhat skills of a sculptor, or the ability to envision what the feature is in the head. Teddy is very good at envisioning because that's all he did at Hogwarts during class--no need of a wand for that. It sticks out untouched in the breast pocket of his robes (especially after purchasing it, Harry had hastily suggested he _not_ stuff it in his back pocket). Dust deposits are in the rings between the segments of the wood--more than once Gram has wiped it down with Ziller's Wand Polish, but it still gets dusty. And, of course, he hasn't really much interest in using it to make things go boom and zap people dead like flies.

"Okay then, Mr. Lupin," Eggebotter smiles and shuffles the stack of papers so they're even. "Your desk is right out there--hold on a moment--and here's a nameplate."

"When do I go out on the--?"

Eggebotter raises his wispy brows. "Field? You'll need to be in here for a few weeks until you're ready for fieldwork, son. Besides, we have a special sort of job for _you_."

"Er--what kind of job?" His is beginning to sound like Harry with all the 'er's interjected. 'Um's are much more formal.

Eggebotter leans over his giant oak desk conspiratorially, as if he is about to spout some information that shouldn't be spouting; Teddy leans in because he just feels it's appropriate to do so.

"Espionage, of course. You're a goldmine for that." Eggebotter nods his head sagaciously and solemnly.

Teddy frowns. "But I don't want to be a _spy_."

Eggebotter propels back, miffed. "What else can you do then, Mr. Lupin? I mean with your N.E.W.T.S. and O.W.L.S. scores, all Acceptables--that's barely missing the bar. But I guess you did score an Exceed Expectactions in Defense in the Darks." And Herbology.

"Right." Teddy slumps in his seat.

He watches Eggebotter's hairy-knuckled, bejeweled fingers knot together on the great oak desk on a stack of parchment. "Well, I suppose you'll be starting today." And Teddy keeps his lips tight about not wanting to be a spy. Eggebotter gives Teddy a stack of parchment of his own--charts, graphs, forms, and little information packets on suspects.

"Sir?" he asks expectantly.

And after what seems a half hour explanation, he carries the pile out with him, along with the instructions ricocheting off his skull. Eggebotter blurts something out as Teddy carries his boxful of office supplies.

"What is it, sir?"

"You've dropped something." Eggebotter frowns at the floor, over his circular glasses and at a photograph on the floor.

Teddy half-smiles as he begins to tuck it away back into his wallet; Eggebotter appears slightly interested. "May I have a gander?" he asks, and Teddy is glad to cooperate.

It's a picture of Victoire, waving at him, widespread grin and all high spirits. Teddy is rather proud.

"She something," he smiles at hands the photo. "Your girlfriend, I presume?"

"That's right," Teddy says before tucking it away. For the first time this morning he almost feels like whistling.

Until he sees the first case he'll be working on after training.

* * *


	2. II

**II.**

Harry asks very casually over dinner tonight, "So your training's almost done, I take it?"

Teddy gives him a sort of bashful glance as the rest of the tables' eyes flock to him. "Yeah, but I'm not doing the same thing as everyone else."

"That's strange, y'know," says Ron, little specks of mash spraying onto his plate. "I figured you'd have to go through years of training."

Teddy stares. "You guys didn't."

"Yeah, but still." Ron's interest in their little spat wanes exponentially as Ginny brings out dessert.

"Maybe his job is easier than the rest of theirs," suggests Hermione, as she bites into the sausage dripping with grease from the end of her fork. (Teddy is always very surprised that she isn't a vegetarian.) She points her fork at Hugo as he feeds a crumble of buttered bread to his pet toad. "Don't do that," she admonishes as little Hugo's eyes follow the prongs of the fork warily.

"Yes, Mum." Hugo exhales, a bit relieved when the fork digs into another bite of sausage.

Lily pinches Teddy's forearm, not too hard, and leans in to whisper, her eyes solemn. "What will you be doing? Do you chase the dark wizards around then send them to Azkaban after you capture them?"

"Er--not exactly." Teddy scratches his chin. "More like undercover work. Investigations."

"Investigations. Like that man in the Daily Prophet who got caught peddling stolen cauldrons?" She looks as though she understands; her chin always juts out when she does.

"I suppose," Teddy says.

As much as this is interesting, he really wants something else to talk about: speaking about his job grinds on his nerves. He's glad Hermione begins to discuss something else--except it turns out to be Gringotts. That's not number one on his list, either. So he sighs and finishes dessert, excusing himself before his head explodes. (That would be very messy.)

As expected, everyone makes a polite groan of protest--whether they really want him there or not--and Teddy says, "Gram's probably lonely." But then Hermione reminds him that he is nineteen years old and Gram is probably just fine, when she looks at him instead of saying anything, of course.

Harry pulls him off to the side, though, before he can Apparate. He looks very serious; Teddy slouches as Harry settles his arm around his shoulder and whispers in his ear, much to his dread.

"What's your first assignment?"

"Nothing really."

"You can tell me if you want."

"It's very simple. I just get jittery thinking about it."

Harry backs off, and gives him that wise expression that reminds Teddy of a bespectacled owl nested deeply in a knothole, looking out and giving sagely advice in tempered hoots. "Just be careful."

"Right."

"You learned how to fill in the charts then, I hope." Harry leans against the door frame and tilts his head.

"Yeah."

"Always remember to put the last name first, capitalize properly, and--"

"Yes, yes, I know, Harry. Never put the whole middle name, just abbreviate it," Teddy interjects restlessly. His fingers tear apart a dirtied tissue in his pants pocket.

Harry looks a bit cheesed off. "Well then, be careful, Teddy. All of us will worry about you."

"Right."

And about as he's ready to Disapparate, Harry asks coolly: "By the way, why didn't you tell us what your first assignment was?"

"It's strictly confidential, sir," Teddy says a little snarkily as Harry smirks. "Couldn't tell you even if I wanted to."

Teddy hates Apparating and Disapparating because it stings when all the little cells of his body shred up and then fuse back together; it's also very raw-feeling when he puts himself back together. But he knows that no transportation can ever be so perfect as he wants.

"I'm home, Gram!" he calls when he kicks his boots off by the coatree.

Andromeda Tonks is busy scouring pots and pans (without magic) and twists her neck around to give Teddy a warm little welcome-home smile. Her eyes are heavily lined with wrinkles now, and her hair silvery and wispy like the ivy vines creeping up the side of the house. Though she still has a pepper to her that makes her seem a little younger than her ages, but not by much.

"You've been so busy lately. I never get to see you," she murmurs as he slips in and kisses her on the cheek.

"People see, places to go," he shrugs.

"And you've eaten at Harry's almost every night this week," she adds pointedly, finally pulling out her wand and muttering _scourgify_ at a particulary nasty spot of rust-colored residue.

He has no excuse for that.

"Oh, your girlfriend sent an owl this evening," she says after depositing the pot in the drying rack. She doesn't sound too happy.

Teddy's head perks up a bit at the table. "Around what time?"

"About seven."

"Where's it at?" (He realizes he should have asked where it was beforehand.)

Andromeda points at a rolled-up piece of parchment on the kitchen table. He also feels sort of stupid because he didn't notice that, either.

"Ah, thanks." He slinks off upstairs to his room and unrolls the parchment--which is about two feet long--and flops back onto his bed where the sheets are a bit chilly, resentful for lack of use.

"Dear Teddy...I'm taking those N.E.W.T.S. soon...really nervous...we have another Hogsmeade weekend coming up soon...I'm really scared...if you really cared about me you wouldn't make me take these...Tell your grandmother I said hello..." he murmurs aloud, and shifts onto his stomach. (The parchment crinkles, and so does his face.)

He is on his bed and his stationary is on his desk, which would be mean he has to get up. He really doesn't want to. So he doesn't, and lets the parchment unfurl on his stomach and smiles a little. This eases the tension coiled in his belly and his gallbladder and his liver and his whole gastrointestinal tract, in fact it makes him rather sleepy.

* * *

Naturally, Teddy is tugging his socks on with his boxers in his between his teeth as he rushes to the bathroom to smooth down his hair and brush his teeth, his mouth crusted with toothpaste when he glances up. The man in the mirror looks well-rested and poorly groomed for his first day out on the field.

Andromeda calls upstairs, "Teddy, haven't you left yet?" The lines in her face fold even more.

"Bye, Gram," he sputters out as he rushes downstairs and stomps into his boots. "See you soon."

And after he Apparates, Andromeda is left staring at the empty space where Teddy had been.

Eggebotter, though, is tapping his fingers on the giant oak desk when Teddy Apparates into the hallway outside and strides in.

"You're late, Lupin," he says, mouth curled downwards. (Always a nasty sign.)

"Sorry, sir."

"Your robes?"

Panic flitters through Teddy like a frenzied Snitch when he sees he's only got his Muggle clothes on. He strains his face and gives Eggebotter a sheepish stare.

"I don't suppose you can conjure them out of thin air, sir?" Teddy asks.

"I suppose I could," says Eggebotter. And he flicks his wand out and Teddy is shrouded in black robes that swish around the ankles of his boots when he takes a seat in the humpbacked chair in front of Eggebotter's desk. (He has learned to appeal to Eggebotter's sense of being powerful, so forth spurt arbitrary acts to underscore his genius. Teddy revels.)

"Gringotts, at lunch time." Eggebotter hands a rather crispy looking photo to Teddy; his fingers twitch around it. He doesn't like the look of that man.

"Go on and change," prods Eggebotter, because Teddy knows he's fascinated and thinks his understudies have no sense of privacy.

"I'd rather not, sir," Teddy says, frowning.

"Why not?" Eggebotter appears insulted.

"Full-bodied transformations mean," Teddy presses his lips together and gives a short scoffy sigh, "mean the whole body, sir."

"Oh. Then I'll just turn around in my chair."

Teddy stills feels entirely self-conscious (vulnerable, more like) as he assumes the form of the man in the photo: gut ballooning out, coppery beard sprouting from his chin, bones rearranging and aching, breathing changing, and eyes like looking through a window with his nose pressed against it.

"Done, sir." Teddy has even changed his vocal cords. A jolly, house-elfish voice tumbles from his white speckled tongue and his hearing is a bit blurrier than before.

"Amazing," breathes Eggebotter, though the viewing has become a daily thing. He frowns, though, and taps the tip of his nose with steepled fingers. "Only, the man's got a tooth missing."

Teddy lets a tooth retract into his gum (which does hurt, like a piece of glass burrowing back into his skin). "Better, sir?" He makes a horse-face.

"Much."

Eggebotter looks anxious for some reason, though, his fingers rubbing all over his desk then twisting the end of his beard roughly. "You'll be able to stay like that all day then? Even when Apparating?"

"I think so, sir."

Eggebotter's face sinks. "Don't tell me you _think_ so, Lupin. Tell me you _know_ so."

"But I don't know so, sir."

"Shouldn't you know?"

"I think, but I don't know."

"Don't be so wishy-washy, Lupin," Eggebotter snaps suddenly, covering the nearly-smiling side of his mouth with a cluster of hairy knuckles and glittering rings. Teddy watches with a little smile on his now-bloated face.

"Right, sir."

"Well, then you should get going. Vault 343. A withdrawal. Don't blink too much when you talk to them and try not to fidget (they jump all over wizards who do that). Do you remember your name?" Eggebotter sounds a bit like Gram, Teddy thinks, amused.

"Vault 343, a withdrawal, don't blink or fidget," he regurgitates, "and my name is Aldrich Goiter." He combs a bit of tawny fleece clouding his cheek.

"Be careful, Lupin," Eggebotter warns before Teddy Disapparates.

And he reappears in Diagon Alley, all intact and wholly not himself, right outside Gringotts Wizarding Bank where an even flow of witches and wizards are going past--almost like the Ministry's hallways in the morning (they're even worse when work gets out).

Two surly-looking wizards are standing outside with hands slipped into their robes, ready to draw out their wands. One with a bushy black Teddy recognizes as Horace Henner, a son of a man Ted Tonks used to know. But he can't possibly say hello like this (he probably wouldn't even recognize Teddy, anyway, in his regular body).

"Good day," he says cheerfully as he passes through, giving them both a brick-toothed grin. They incline their heads as he passes through the doors that seem to stretch for miles.

Inside, it's much darker, lit with torches and candles, lines of wizards and witches with funny-shaped hats and tarnished robes. Teddy cranes his thick neck to see the where a goblin named Griphook--they, of course, look all alike to him. Big batty ears, and rat snouts, beady eyes and sharp little shark teeth ready to bite into him. (He remembers his first time coming here with Gram, and he remembers bawling in fright after seeing a goblin. He, the goblin, didn't look too pleased while Gram soothed him, saying, "They may look scary, Teddy dear, but they're actually just very grouchy.")

The line trailing out from Griphook is very long, and he looks just as unpleasant as any other goblin who's conducting business. Teddy can't see his face too well from this far back, though.

This place reminds Teddy of the corridors to the dungeon in Hogwarts. They also learned in Care of Magical Creatures (Professor Grubbly-Plank seemed indifferent as to whether goblins were sentient beings) that goblins enjoy dark cavelike dwellings, like rats and bats.

But he's not quite sure about them, because Flitwick's half-goblin, and he was always the cheeriest bloke, flooding the classroom with sunshine from the windows and prancing around like a little mouse enchanted by the Pied Piper.

"Hello," greets Teddy mirthfully as he can when the goblin Griphook comes back up to the desk. (He has just put a small bag of Galleons under the desk to take down to the vault later.) "I'd like to make a withdrawal."

Griphook eyes Teddy with disdain before unlatching the little wooden door and batty ears flopping as he turns head, nose almost tucked into his chin. "Which vault?"

"343."

"This way, please."

And they slip into a murky silence with Griphook's clawlike hands scrunching open and closed all the while. It's even darker up here than in the lobby, Teddy notices, and the torches flicker over their faces (Griphook's sinking deeper and deeper into a snarl--he probably hates making withdrawals). They reach the three-hundreds and Griphook turns to face Teddy, little sharky teeth bared as he says, "Key please."

Teddy grins, as he pretends to fish around his robes for a key. Griphook's rat eyes flash with panic as Teddy presses his shoulder in with his knee, against the stone wall. His wand is at the goblin's throat.

"Tell me now, nasty little bugger, about this rebellion your bank president is planning?" Teddy hisses, retaining his smile, feeling that the whole time he's been in the Ministry has finally seeped into his brain.

* * *

In the Great Hall in Hogwarts, a jittery little owl crashes in and lands in front of Victoire Weasley (it skids onto her plate).

"Hello, Randall," she says dully as she unties the white string around his foot.

She unfurls the parchment and reads it over--which is only a sentence, sans the _Love, Teddy_. It says, _Sorry, I'm busy that weekend_.

"As usual." And she watches Randall fly away hooting, as she lights Teddy's message on fire with her wand, a bit bored, a two third-years look on horrified.

* * *


	3. III

**III.**

"Excellent," Eggebotter beams at Teddy, his long beard seeming to bristle with excitement as he studies the notes that take up about two and a half feet of parchment.

Teddy is pretty satisfied with himself as he lounges back in the humpbacked chair (it's hard to lounge in a humpbacked chair), kicking his feet with the little trepidation he does have about Eggebotter possibly finding something wrong with the notes he took. (He had Griphook spurting out information like a fountain when he fibbed, "I'll use _Avada Kedavra_ on your ass if you don't tell me anything." A vague, hollow threat and poised wand loosened the goblin's tongue like a unloaded gun pressed against his temple.)

"Excellent, Lupin," Eggebotter repeats, blowing out and stirring the little hairs in his beard. He then folds the notes up and puts them in a file folder, and tucks them away into his giant desk. "Now for your second assignment."

Teddy stiffens up a bit: he's not sure what this is.

Eggebotter opens another file folder, flicking his fingers hastily through a stack of papers until he tears one from the pile and smacks it on the desk before Teddy's eyes. The old wizard then looks sternly at Teddy.

Teddy's stomach flip-flops.

"This is your next assignment. It's a little harder," Eggebotter smiles hard, "but I think I can put my confidence in you. All you have to do is go to the home and--this is the tricky part--pretend to be him. Talk to his family."

He swallows. "I can't do it, sir."

Eggebotter takes on a somewhat grandfatherly face, and sighs. He contemplates a moment, as if wallowing in disappointment, then speaks, his voice a little hoarse. "I know it's something a little, how do you say, personal and obstrusive, but it's the only way to find out if this guy is really it."

"But--"

Now Eggebotter looks a little peeved. "Don't worry, I say! Once we get all these liberal, goblin-loving wizards out of the way we'll just have to deal with the goblins--and since that last rebellion in Hogsmeade some time ago we've learned a lot about how to combat them. You probably won't have to lay a finger on anything."

"Oh, really? I had to shake Griphook up a bit to get him to talk." Teddy arches a brow at Eggebotter.

He looks slightly disconcerted. "You shouldn't have done that. They'll be even nastier and less compliant."

"Should I have given him anything?" He stares gimlet at the old wizard.

Eggebotter strokes his beard with his sparkling fingers. "Now that you think of it...I think he was the one who...Nevermind. Nevermind!" He looks like one of those intense wizards in the marginal pictures in _Hogwarts: A History_ with bolts of blue lightning forming in his palms. (Not that he ever read it, of course.)

"But I don't feel right doing this."

"What is your problem, Lupin?" Eggebotter's eyes shake in their sockets and he combs his beard furiously and Teddy can hear his feet tapping in a frantic tattoo on the tiles.

He scratches the back of his head, and looks up at Eggebotter meekly. "I'll do it, sir." Eggebotter looks immensley relieved at this.

"Good."

But Teddy isn's so sure this is good, when Bill Weasley, his future father-in-law, is giving spectators a lopsided grin and fingering the end of his red ponytail.

* * *

Teddy has just gotten himself into a very compromising position.

He slashes water onto his face and lets it dribble into this plain, toothpaste-crusted, virginal sink which is much like himself and stares miserably into the mirror. The roots by his forehead are damp now, from all that water, his eyes look red: so does his hair.

In fact, it's very long and silky and he likes to run his hands through it--but it may get greasy if he does that too much. And the forehead that is damp now too is speckled with cute little freckles and serrated with little crinkles of age. His body is a lot more hulking and calloused than his own--the face is very pretty, though crosshatched with nasty scars, indeed.

With blue eyes and all that junk.

He hears her calling from the bedroom again, all spread out on the bed with her legs wide open as he tried to tie his mind around this. Stupid fucking Eggebotter and his dim little encouraging smile as he wished Teddy well on his second assignment.

Stupid fucking Teddy for taking this job.

"Be out in a minute," he croaks.

And just as he lurches into the bedroom, she's on him like flies on manure, her little pink tongue twisting and twisting and twisting until he's on the receiving end (she's dragged it over to the bed) and he's captured in a salsa grip, her fingers splayed on his shapely new jaw. Her tongue is moving over his cheeks and behind his ears; she murmurs something about how compliant he is this afternoon and she likes it because she _never_ gets to take the lead. (But by the way she's acting it seems like she's been anticipating this for a long time.)

Teddy laughs meekly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Nozing? Well, good."

And she takes her pearly nails and pinches his nipples until they're red and sore and he's yowling like a cat; she moves her gold head on his chest and nips them and licks them as if she were the man and he were the woman. To think that this may be how his girlfriend was conceived slightly disturbs him--but his erection says it's just fine. It's good. It's ass. It's all right.

Teddy feels really guilty, not just because he's in the body of his girlfriend's dad doing her mom, but more because he's not even using his own cock to do this. It's like manipulation or something.

Tears are pricking his pretty blue eyes now because she's using her claws to scratchpost a cock that's not even his and it's hurting nerves that aren't even really his--but he's feeling the pain, the pleasure all the same. He melts, though, when she takes him into her mouth (she's all suited up like a professional: arm on side of head, elbow resting on his thigh like she's a disc jockey). And at eruption, she takes the pretty tan bedsheet with red pinstripes and wipes off her mouth and the head of his cock before she climbs fully onto the bed.

"How do you want to do this?" he asks lamely. (His voice is rumbly and silky; he can't help it.)

She doesn't reply, her face fixed into some daze as she pushes his shoulder back somewhat lightly and slides onto his slick cock, sighing cheerfully as she scrunches her hips up again and falls back down. (His eyes are rolling to the back of his head.) He comes back to semi-consciousness when she puts his hand on her breast, giving him a very do-it-now stare. As best as he knows, he plucks at it like the guitar Gram got him for Christmas when he turned fifteen.

Fleur continues slithering up and down not-really-his cock and squirming and shuttering although Teddy's fondling is way out of sync with her moving. She squeezes his cock tighter and he knows he's about ready to boil over. (Funny how she can change from a disc jockey into just a general jockey in a matter of seconds.)

One last slip and he gargles out "I love you," his hand clamping around her breast and she says, "Ouch." Then she lets out a smart little gasp before tumbling over and crawling up to meet him eye-to-eye.

"You zounded like a schoolboy," she says dismissively, naked and glistening after she switches off the lamp above the bed.

He is still panting heavily in bed--thought after thought is lapping over the other like waves on a shore--eyes still large and lamplike as she tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder and snuggles up under his arm like a cat. He pushes her off though and croaks something about having to go to the bathroom again.

"You piss too much," she grunts as she pulls away and buries her head in one of the big cushy pillows he can't bring himself to get comfortable on.

Once more, he's staring into the mirror, his bright eyes wide with shock of amour and he feels that little cushion of red pubic hair bristling against his now limp cock. He plunks onto the toilet and assumes the pose of The Thinker, only much smaller and less confident.

He is sure the thinker never had this much to think about.

He paces the bathroom for a while, trips on the rug and readjusts it, splashes so much water on his face that it's become drenched and he has to wipe it down with a monogrammed towel that is not his. Once the little shockwave is down to a dull roar, he assumes his position on the toilet against and splays the big toes he's got now; they're pretty though, because they don't have fungus infections on them like Ron's or dark black hairs like Harry's (in the summertime when everyone walks around barefooted, Teddy doesn't look at the ground). They have chips in the nails, freckles, and a cute ruddy color when he squishes them into the bathroom tile.

Of course, Teddy plans to exit through the window and shuffle off naked. As long as Victoire's little brother doesn't see, he's all right (Louis is going to Hogwarts next year, far too young to witness his father nude, Teddy thinks.) But as he attempts to figure out how to unlocked the goddamned window. Louis is hollering from his room (spoiled little brat Teddy knows him to be) and she who is in the bedroom yawns out in her tinny English, "Why don't you go see him, Bill?"

Teddy freezes up and slinks down the hall to Louis's room (he thinks it's the one next to Dominique's who is in her forth year at Hogwarts) and peeks into the door.

"What?" His voice still sounds completely strange to him.

Louis blinks and asks, "You're home?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, that's all I wanted." Then he piledrives back under his pillows and resumes what Teddy assumes to be fake snoring.

He toes back over into the bathroom, making metallic, clinky noises as he tries to undo the lock of the window. Just as he's about to pull out his wand and mutter a spell out, he gropes around his boxers, whispering "oh shit" as he remembers that he left his wand on the kitchen table. He wants to wait to get outside to Apparate so the crack doesn't wake up Fleur or Louis, so he slips nimbly into the kitchen (Bill's body is so agile and slippery through the house, as if it's adapted to every nook and cranny thrown at him).

Teddy grabs his wand and steamrolls back into the bathroom, muttering an Unlocking Spell at the sill and squeezing out of the window with a yelp and a fall into the gardenias outside the house. Gingerly, he rubs his behind and lets himself contort back into being just plain Teddy. Then Apparates back into his own bedroom where it's pitch and the sheets are boyish and cool with comets racing across them (actually, too, they move around his sheets).

He closes his eyes and his heartbeart is still feverish--and groans because he got no notes for Eggebotter. Plus, he's still nervous whether or not it was his own come that shot into Fleur, because he's sure that Victoire won't appreciate a little sibling sired by her boyfriend. This all makes him very nervous and stupid-feeling.

He doesn't want to look anyone in the face ever again.

* * *

Bill Weasley cracks back home, tired and a bit moody becaused the goddamned goblins still won't budge no matter how sweet or rough he is with them. He shirks off his jacket poutily and lays over the back of a chair and heads toward the bathroom.

It's terribly cool in here.

He narrows his eyes at the window before he stoops over to brush his teeth goodnight--it's jarred and looks like someone's cast a sloppy Unlocking Spell on it (those spells can only be used from the inside, of course).

Bill thinks there is something rotten in Shell Cottage.


	4. IV

**IV.**

Victoire, as Head Girl, has the moral obligation and duty to protect the defenseless: a group of fourth-year Gryffindors are picking on a shrimpy first-year Slytherin she recognizes. But she doesn't really think the defenseless should be categorized as defenseless when they're slick-tongued little perverts. He scowls and pulls his wand from his robes, giving them all a challenging look. The fourth years rush away pallid as she she strolls in from behind.

"That's right! Who's the man? I am!" the boy bellows, his knobby elbow revealed as he rolls the sleeves up on his robes. If she is not imagining it, he's flexing his stringy bicep.

"Five points for being weird," she teases, passing him. His eyes grow big and he dashes after her.

"You! You're the Head Girl!"

"Haven't you ever heard of an inside voice?" she drawls, leaning against a statue. This kid is so very interesting and at least a foot shorter than she is.

He sidles up to her, face tinted red as if he's trying to stave off a blush. "I scared off those fourth years. Pretty cool, huh? Will you go out with me now?"

A few weeks ago, he'd come up to her in the hall and asked her out, point blank. Even attempted to fondle her breast. (Little pervert, she thinks of him as in her head.)

"Sorry, Scorpius."

He doesn't appear phased. "There's always tomorrow."

"You're terribly optimistic for being in Slytherin."

"I'm ambitious," he corrects.

"Very ambitious."

He scoots next to her; she eyes him warily and watches his spindly little fingers open and close like a goblin's. It's not like he's an ugly little shrimp. But she has explained over and over that she has a boyfriend as has no interest in a younger man. Especially one who's eleven.

"Who's your boyfriend?" Scorpius asks very suddenly. A new question.

"Someone."

"Who is he? I'm serious." Scorpius scowls. "I want to duel him."

"I don't think you'd stand a chance against Teddy."

Scorpius looks around a minute and then whispers. "You mean Teddy Lupin? The guy with the blue hair? I've heard about him from Dad."

"Right."

Finally she thinks he might be in awe enough to leave her alone. It's only wishful thinking, though, as his face brightens with a triumphant smirk.

"I'll study hard!" he bellows, rushing away.

Victoire wonders if Teddy could actually defeat this kid in a duel or not.

* * *

Anything beyond this point is weird, wicked and wild.

He hasn't the courage to confess to Eggebotter what really went on, so when asked he replied very astutely, "No one was home, sir." Eggebotter had slurped it right up and wished him a better luck next time; Teddy sincerely hopes there won't be a next time.

He writes a letter, or four, to Victoire and apologizes for not responding too much. Writes that he's so caught up in work he doesn't have the time. Crosses that out. Writes that he's very tired. Crumples that up. Writes that he has just lost his virginity to her mother and is very sorry. Lights it on fire with his wand.

Writes he misses her.

Ties it to the foot of his owl.

* * *

It's evening when Teddy's owl swoops into the Great Hall and skids onto the table, knocking over some mash and turkey dressing. A few third years snicker as Victoire threatens the owl his life as she unlaces the ribbon (it's light blue - her favorite color; he must have done something wrong).

Her eyebrows raise when she reads the parchment - it's all smeared over with thumbprints. If she didn't know better, she'd say that a cat had gotten into a inkwell and trodden all over it. But she knows that's not a good theory because Teddy doesn't like cats and his grandmother is allergic to them.

(He admitted to her a long time ago he was always afraid they would suck the breath out of him while he slept.)

Messiness aside, his letter is altogether unimpressive and answers basically none of her questions. She reads a total of five sentences carrying some variation of missing her to death.

(I miss you.)

(It's so boring without you.)

(It'll be nice when I can see you.)

(Let's make plans for Easter holiday.)

(Please send me a letter back.)

Teddy usually isn't so _mushy_and willing to expose his feelings - in fact, he's the opposite. It's sort of scaring her, as she rolls the parchment back up and shoos his owl away. She doesn't dredge up the right words until she's in the Gryffindor common room, knees drawn up to her chest while all the rest of the students are in their dormitories. The fire is crackling, sweet and low, in sync with her quill scratching. Several times she stops and reads what she has written - just a bunch of words with no meaning, really.

(Dear Teddy,)

If it were any other regular response, she would feel spiteful and impish: she'd put a delay on their meeting and tell him she has to study for her N.E.W.T.s (which is very true). It would be easy to do and be a miffed little girl. But she's worried, very worried, and concludes that this isn't the time for being childish or petty.

(I have to study for most of Easter holiday, but I can visit you in Hogsmeade sometime.)

Victoire spins the quill around and tickles her chin with it, yawning. It's a little past one o'clock, which isn't the latest she's every stayed up in the common room, by any means. Many nights have been dedicated to studying (and when Teddy was here, some kissing). But she still has to write. So she lets out one more yawn and scratches away.

(Would Monday or Tuesday be better for you? That would be best for me.)

She can just imagine Teddy, arms full of Honeydukes and mouth rimmed with icing. That cheers her up.

(I don't want any of this brooding business. I want you to tell me all about your new job. From what I've heard, it sounds terribly interesting.)

Teddy's probably asleep right now.

(Love, Victoire)

She should be, too, so she can dream about him.

* * *

Teddy is in the office almost an hour before work begins, per Eggebotter's request. When he walks in, he can see the thirsty look in Eggebotter's eyes. Like he's about ready to drain Teddy of every memory of that night. That's okay with Teddy because, frankly, he wouldn't mind have a Memory Charm used on it.

"Lupin."

"Sir," Teddy nods and takes a seat even before Eggebotter invites him to.

"Tell me everything," he seems to take notice of Teddy's anxiety, "it's all right if you didn't take any notes."

Teddy has prepared a let-down speech, one that took him approximately two hours to come up with. Four hours to remember. And all night, pounding in his head so he couldn't sleep. He shrugs a little and opens his mouth -- it's amazing to him that words come out.

"They weren't home," he says, taking a final bow and skipping off the stage. It's not a long and eloquent speech, but it's concise.

Eggebotter folds his arms across his chest (it's a barrel chest that balloons out almost comically with each gasp of air). "All right."

Teddy thinks he needs to clean his ears.

"What did you just say, sir?"

Eggebotter blinks. "I said that it's okay."

"Why, sir?" Teddy now feels like the thirsty one.

"Because," the old wizard leans forward, resting an elbow ahead and giving Teddy a crooked and knowing smile, "somebody's already rooted out useful information. About a rebellion."

Teddy swallows, eyes sort of widening. "A rebellion?"

"Yeah, in Hogsmeade. According to our sources, the goblins intend to repeat history. No doubt it'll be bloody," he sounds grave but almost excited, "do you know anything about goblins, Lupin?"

He shrugs. "Not a lot, honestly."

"One thing you should know is they've very crafty sons of bitches. That's for sure. And gory. They wouldn't bat an eye while gutting a wizard. Any wizard, for that matter. They hate us all."

"Is that true, sir?"

"Damn right it is. They're not as powerful as house elves, thankfully, but they're completely suspicious in nature. They wouldn't trust a wizard even if he gave them all his worldly possessions -- and that's saying something."

Teddy is kind of hoping that he won't have anything to do with this rebellion. In fact, he's thinking about writing Victoire and telling her to not come to Hogsmeade on Easter holiday.

"So, does this have anything to do with me, sir?"

Eggebotter is seesawing one his hairy-knuckled fingers across his bottom lip, a fatalistic gleam in his eye.

"Son, are Metamorphmagi capable of transforming into, say, non-human things?"

Teddy turns white. "I don't know about that, sir."

"We'll just have to find out, then. Won't we?"


End file.
